Work Text
Mycroft’s toes caressed along Greg’s calf over the silly Grinch pajama pants he had received earlier that evening. They were cuddled up on the couch together, Greg’s back cradled between Mycroft’s thighs.“Popcorn?” Mycroft offered, holding a popped kernel up for Greg's inspection.“Yes, thanks!” Greg opened his mouth and took the snack from Mycroft fingers with his lips. Mycroft huffed a laugh and gently squeezed Greg around the middle.“Spoiled,” he muttered.“It's Christmas. 'Tis the season for spoiling. Now shush, the movie is starting.”“Thank you for indulging my little penchant for the classics. Modern cinematic productions rarely have the sort of gravitas that Alastair Sim brought to this role.”“I can see why you like it,” Greg offered as the opening credits rolled across the screen in black and white. “All those posh costumes, the homage to classic literature, the drama… There's a certain aesthetic to it.”“I suppose so, but more recently I find myself musing over the morality of it all. It is, after all, a cautionary tale.” He fell silent for a moment, gathering some courage, then continued, “Lately… Lately I have been reminded that there is more to life than service to one's career.”Greg threaded his fingers through Mycroft's where they were resting over his sternum, and tipped his head back to see Mycroft better.Mycroft continued softly, “Each day with you is a gift.”Greg lifted a hand to the side of Mycroft's face and drew him down gently for a kiss. As they parted, Greg said,“You're hardly Scrooge, darling. You do important work - 'mankind is your business' is almost literally your job description. I know you donated money to that cat shelter last year after I mentioned they were going to put down the kittens because of overcrowding. How anyone ever called you ‘The Iceman’ is beyond me. You're a big softie under that posh waistcoat.”Mycroft pursed his lips but said nothing to confirm or deny the accusation. Greg squeezed Mycroft's knee, giggling as he heard an undignified squeak.“They’d be shocked if they knew The British Government has ticklish knees.” He squeezed again and grinned roguishly as Mycroft jumped.“That is confidential information!”“And I shall protect it with my life. Shh… Now here comes the good part!” They both settled into each other again, turning their eyes to the screen.
“Why do you doubt your senses?"
"Because a slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheat! You might be an undigested bit of beef, a piece of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than the grave in you!”
“Classic Dickensian wit,” Greg added cheerfully. He intertwined their fingers together once more. The drama unfolding on screen caught their attention and they relaxed into the tale. Mycroft settled his chin atop Greg's head, breathing him in. As the movie came to its end, he quoted softly along with the film,“I don't deserve to be so happy.”